


perhaps 'bring guns' will be our always

by MercuryM



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Falling In Love, Partners to Lovers, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryM/pseuds/MercuryM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Clarke associates Bellamy and guns with safety and one time she associates it with love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	perhaps 'bring guns' will be our always

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my head for ages now, inspired by Joanna's ( [kingsbellamy](http://kingsbellamy.tumblr.com/) ) otp tag, and it was about time I sat down and wrote it. it follows mostly cannon and idk, I really like how it turned out (I hope you do too). thanks to [keywordlydia](http://keywordlydia.tumblr.com/) for looking it over for me!
> 
> **I absolutely refuse to have my story hosted on wattpad, goodreads or any other site! Stop stealing people's work!**

**i.**

The first time Clarke said it, she meant exactly that -- _bring guns, have my back, watch over us._

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Finn, she wanted to, really, she did, but the Grounders were a complete mystery shrouded in mist of fear and making Clarke’s heart beat wildly with apprehension.

An unknown like that made her feel small and scared and she wanted to have all the safety she could get and if that meant Bellamy and his rifle, then so be it. 

Bellamy’s face was set in angry lines, narrowed eyes letting her know just how reckless he thought her to be to even _consider_ Finn’s plan, but he also was aware how stubborn she could get and knew there was no way he was convincing her to do otherwise. So, instead of wasting his breath on pointless arguments, he gave her the go ahead and somehow Clarke found it easier to breathe, knowing that if things went south, she’d have the best backup she could ask for.

Facing Anya was easier when she was aware that Bellamy was somewhere out there, gun aimed at the Grounder leader and doing everything in his power to keep her unharmed if it ever came to exchanging blows. And God, was she glad she asked him to come when the negotiation went to hell and Anya advanced on her with a knife and Bellamy expertly disarmed her with a well placed bullet.  

Later, when Finn shouted angrily at her, hurt by her distrust, when Octavia accused Jasper of acting without reason, when the ship her mother was supposed to be on came dawn falling in flames, the only person Clarke could lean on was Bellamy.

And he held her, let her cry, silent in his stoicism, her only steady pillar at the moment.

Clarke wondered briefly then as the pain of losing her mother was tearing apart her chest, if maybe asking Bellamy to come had been a mistake, if letting the Grounders ambush and kill her would have been preferable to her bleeding heart, to the horrifying realisation that she was all alone now.

But Bellamy’s hold was firm, strong, steadying her swaying body as he helped her reach the camp and started yelling orders, doubling the centuries and tripling the guards, ever the protector even as he escorted her to her tent and then sat in front of the entrance, wanting to make sure nobody disturbed her.

There was no way Clarke could sleep, not with the night she had, so she sat down next to him, close enough to feel his warmth and breathe in his scent -- gunpowder and smoke and something distinctively Bellamy.

She should have hated the smell of gunpowder, the metalic taste the air had after a gun was fired. She was supposed to be a medic, a healer, she should have despised the man-made weapons that could so easily put an end to a living soul. But she didn’t. It shouldn’t have relaxed her but it did. It calmed her down, reminded her of Bellamy’s infectious grin when they found the barrels with guns, of the awe and giddiness from firing a gun, feeling the recoil in her throbbing shoulder, of the sense of security at finally having the means to defend themselves.

At some point the adrenaline and tiredness took its toll on her and her head lolled to the side, nudging Bellamy gently in the shoulder. As Clarke was falling into a dreamless sleep, she was distantly aware of Bellamy shifting around until her head was comfortably perched on his shoulder. His rifle was laid across their laps in easy reach and Clarke grazed her fingers against the cold metal, grateful for the grounding effect it had on her.

Her last thought before sleep overcame her was that Bellamy bringing a gun with him had been the _right_ choice, no matter what Finn thought.

Sleep was easy after that, there under the stars, their silhouettes hidden by the darkness of the night, with Bellamy standing guard, offering her comfort and safety and keeping her demons at bay. It felt natural and the ease of it should have scared her.

Yet it didn’t.

 

**ii.**

When the Grounders descended on their camp, Clarke was scared shitless.

Their guns were not enough, not against the overwhelming numbers of the Grounders, not against their bloodthirst or against their battle experience.

The camp was chaos, a pandemonium filled with screams and gunshots and ground covered in blood.

Her rifle had long ago ran out of bullets, laying forgotten in the dirt next to the unseeing eyes of one of her people. Somehow, among all that mess, Miller had found her and was pulling her back towards the dropship, his hand clenched around her jacket, pushing her when her feet refused to move, dragging her when she wanted to go in another direction. They had to close the hatch, she knew that, but her eyes were desperately searching for the one person that had disappeared in the sea of Grounders and she hadn’t seen since the first wave of bullets was fired.

Miller seemed to know (of course he knew) and she read the same desperation and need to find Bellamy in his eyes as the one she held in hers, but his jaw was clenched tight and his hand was relentless in his hold, his legs never ceasing their walk towards the dropship.

Fighting him was stupid so Clarke let herself be guided to the security the dropship offered and silently prayed that Bellamy was out there somewhere, his heart still beating and having the capacity to forgive her for executing the plan without him.

And then, as Miller tugged her down to take cover behind a fallen log, she saw _him_.  

Bellamy was _alive_ and the visual confirmation lessened the acid taste of dread and anxiety in her mouth. But then a rider broke through their shaky defense, horse jumping over the hurdles and the Grounder on top knocked Bellamy down with his spear.

Clarke surged to her feet but Miller grabbed her, biting back curses when she struggled against his hold.

“We need to help him!”

But Miller shook his head and pushed her behind his back, rifle ready to defend them while they made a run for the dropship. When they reached the threshold, he pushed her inside and loaded the last three bullets he had in his gun.

“Close the fucking hatch, Clarke.”

She hesitated for a moment, gaze going back to the still fighting Bellamy and noticing that Finn had joined him and was trying to help, before hardening her heart and pushing the tent aside, hand reaching for the lever and pulling it down with a final clank.

Her fingers were clammy and cold around the lever, shaking from the panic and terror the battle had induced in her. She told herself that pulling down the lever had been the right thing to do, the only way she had to save the rest of the delinquents, that leaving Bellamy outside to fend for himself had been her _only_ choice.

But her heart skipped with the lie and she had to bury the truth deeper in her mind. Yet that didn’t make it any less real and the implication hit her harder than the loss of her people had.

Because she had closed the hatch only for one simple reason -- she had seen Bellamy reaching for a gun and getting his hands on it.

If he hadn’t made it, Clarke wasn’t sure if she would have found the strength to pull down the lever.

 

**iii.**

The next time she saw him, he was giving up his gun, hands up in surrender, looking bruised but otherwise unharmed.

Raven gave her a small grin and told her to go ahead, and Clarke was up and running towards him before she was even conscious of her decision to do so.

He was frozen in shock when she literally leaped into his open arms and hugged him tightly, wetting his shirt with her tears, relishing the familiar scent of gunpowder he carried with him. Then, he was hugging her back, arms strong and snug around her ribs, nearly lifting her off the ground in his happiness and relief at finally seeing her again.

Clarke couldn’t keep the smile off her face -- the feeling was mutual.

Octavia smiled next to them and Clarke forced herself to let go of Bellamy and hug his younger sister. Hugging Octavia wasn’t a chore, she really was glad to see the younger Blake, but for some reason she wished she had more time to enjoy the feel of Bellamy’s arms around her.

It was peculiar in a way -- they had never embraced before, yet being in his arms felt strangely familiar, like a long forgotten cherished memory.

Having him back was like finding the missing piece of a puzzle, a phantom limb that had at last slid into place. Over the weeks they had spent together leading the hundred, and then the weeks they had spent apart each fighting for survival and freedom, Clarke realized how heavily she had come to rely on him, she appreciated his support and leadership skills, his willingness to work together with her and keep an eye out for her.

It had been hard being in Mouth Weather not knowing if he had made it out of the blast zone alive. It had been hard having people look up to her without her having Bellamy to fall back to when she had been unsure how to proceed.

It had been hard but she had made it.

But if it depended on her, she never wanted to do it again.

It turned out it was easier to face her mother and her disapproval when she had Bellamy at her back. Almost a child’s play to pretend she would stay put and listen.

But once her mother left them alone, Clarke turned around and the fire burning in her chest and running through her veins was reflected in his eyes.

“We’re gonna need guns.”

And his smile was barely an upturn of his chapped lips showing a glint of his white teeth; a hint of something wild and dangerous lurked under the surface of his dark eyes and threw shadows over his face making him seem like a ferocious demon, ready to set the world ablaze.

Clarke should have taken that as a warning not to get too close, less she wanted to get burned.

Instead, her excitement soared and she welcomed the flames.

Seeing Bellamy with a rifle by her side was like coming home. Having him stand next to her and scout the forest as they walked felt innate.  

Gunpowder had never smelled better to her.

Days later, when Finn’s blood was still fresh on her hands and Lexa’s words were ringing in her ears, she sent him to infiltrate Mount Weather.

Her _biggest_ regret was that she sent him in without a gun.

 

**iv.**

Clarke’s palm was sweaty around the gun when all of the sudden the door beeped and opened with a whoosh. Still, her hand reminded steady even as she prepared herself to fire and kill again.

Seeing Bellamy was not what she had expected at all and as Octavia pushed past her and hugged him, her desire to do the same was nearly overwhelming.

Their eyes met over Octavia’s shoulder and she knew that things had changed between them -- whatever had happened to him and the things she went through -- they weren’t the same people anymore.

Clarke was afraid of finding out if hugging him now would feel like hugging a stranger, so she gave him a nod and after a moment he gave one back and the lack of further contact had her heart clenching, her throat uncomfortably tight. The way he carried himself was different, the bite in his voice was sharper than before.

He had a gun again and the reminder that she had sent him in defenseless had her blinking back tears. Now was not the time to mourn the possible crumble of their partnership. 

It was not like she had the time for it -- nothing went according to plan and for the first time the recoil of the gun as she pulled the trigger was far from comforting. Dante fell to the ground, white shirt turning crimson, and the gunpowder in the air tasted like poison.

The gun dangled from her fingers and she stifled the urge to throw it away; everything was falling apart and Clarke operated on autopilot. She couldn’t remember the words she exchanged with Cage but the dismay at seeing her mother on the table, getting holes drilled into her bones, had her reaching for the lever.

Things might have changed but Bellamy’s warmth was definitely still the same when he put his hand on top of hers and pulled the lever with her.

Later, his eyes begged her to stay but his arms stayed put by his side. He always respected her choices even when he didn’t agree with them. And this -- her leaving, him staying -- they _needed_ it both; they had to recover and figure out where they stood with each other.

He knew it too.

But his stubbornness reared its head and before she could react, he was unstrapping the handgun from his side and pushing it into her hand.

“Always bring a gun with you. You never know when you’ll need it.”

And his earnest expression and concerned words made something break down inside of her and she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, sinking into his embrace when he lifted his arms to hug her tightly.

The longer she let him hold her the more her resolve to leave was chipped away, and she broke the hug reluctantly, soaking in his unwillingness to let her go when his hands lingered on her waist before slipping off completely and making Clarke shiver.

She commited to memory the way the sun caressed his unruly dark hair and gave his dark brown eyes an amber shine, his freckles standing out even more against his bronze skin, broad shoulder ready to share the weight with her only if she asked.

But she didn’t.

She clung to the gun like it was her last life support (and at the moment it felt a lot like it) and turned around, feeling his gaze on her back until she got lost among the trees. It was only there, hidden in the greenery, that she let the tears overcome her, body curled protectively around the weapon.

Because Bellamy hadn’t made the same mistake like she did -- he had sent her off with a gun.

 

**\+ i.**

It was few months after she had come back that Clarke decided she had enough -- the two of them had been dancing around each other for way too long.

The treck to the hotspring hadn’t taken them long -- it was fairly close to their camp -- but by the time they reached it, Clarke was close to vibrating out of her skin with nerves and excitement.

She dropped her bag and Bellamy did the same and the moment she turned around she froze, momentarily stunned by his knowing smile.

Clarke huffed and rolled her eyes and he chuckled and came closer, fingers gently tracing the lines of her jaw and disappearing into her hair, tilting her head up and pressing his lips against hers slowly. Clarke could hear her heartbeat in her ears and she wrapped her hands around him, pulling him closer, eager to feel his warmth.

The scent of gunpowder tickled her nose and she drew back when her hands nudged the handgun Bellamy had in the back of his pants. She couldn’t help but laugh.

His left eyebrow went up. “What?”

She shook her head but he tugged softly at her hair and she gave in. “Figures you don’t go anywhere without your gun.”

“I only follow your orders.” She furrowed her brows, lost in the conversation and annoyed by his apparent amusement. “You told me to bring guns -- I haven’t stopped carrying one ever since if I could help it.”

Her lungs stopped working for a second, unsure if she really was hearing what she thought she was, because this sounded a lot more serious than a simple conversation about firearms.

“You -” Her heart was ready to burst free from her chest and she could feel her cheeks heating. “Ever since?”

He nuzzled her neck and kissed his way up until he reached her lips and breathed against them. “Ever since.”

“Oh.” The kiss was hot and languid and melted the tension off Clarke’s frame. When they pulled apart, Clarke guided one of Bellamy’s hands to the small of her back where her own gun was strapped on. “Me too.”

He laughed and the hot puffs of air had her shuddering pleasantly.

“We’re weird, aren’t we?”

Clarke bit her lower lip and his eyes flicked down to followed the movement, the hunger in them making her reach up and kiss him again, getting lost in his heat and gasping for air when she squeezed her tighter.

“Yes, we are.”

Because only between the two of them could guns mean something more than weapons.

Her jacket hit the ground and so did his, and not long after the rest of their clothes followed as they slipped into the hot spring, guns laying close by, just in case.

Their guns, Clarke mused, were a lot like a promise, like a forever; it was as if as long as each had a gun, everything was going to work out. It sounded a lot like always and Clarke found herself loving it.

And as Bellamy kissed her again, warm hands gliding over her wet skin and making her forget the outside world, she found herself loving him too.


End file.
